_My Dear Lucy_:--I am writing this in my room high up on the hillside of
Lucerne, (Luzern) pronounced as if there were a "t" before the "z." The
day is closing. The light is yet bright on the mountains, but the lake
lies in shadows. The lamps are being lighted down below in the town and
along the promenade. I hear faintly the arrival of the steamer at the
pier.
But let me begin at the beginning, and tell you what I have seen and
done up to the present. This telling is a poor substitute for the
reality, I assure you; but as you have never been in Switzerland, you
might be interested in the sights here--through my eyes! Let me say now,
before I forget, that at every point of beauty and interest, I said in
my heart, "O that Lucy could be here to enjoy this!" It really seemed
selfish in me to be alone. And then, you know, the pleasure of sight
seeing is materially enhanced when one has a sympathetic companion to
whom one may exclaim: "Isn't that grand!"
We entered Switzerland at Basel, then journeyed on to Zurich. This is
Switzerland's largest city, and in my opinion, it is one of the most
beautiful large cities I have ever seen. Of course, I hunted up the
Church headquarters, where I was fortunate to meet a friend I had known
in Salt Lake. He kindly gave me the information I desired about the
city and even took a few hours off duty to accompany me to points of
interest.
That evening we went to the Opera house, where Faust was being played. I
had a great desire to see Faust in the original, and though my German is
not up to Goethe's standard, I could follow the plot somewhat, and I was
eagerly watching for Margaret to make her appearance on the stage. After
a long evening, the curtain went down, and all the people got up and
left--yet no Margaret had appeared. I was puzzled; but my friend
explained that the play was only half over. If I desired to see the
rest, I would have to come back the following evening. What do you think
of that? Well, I didn't go back--I went to Lucerne, next morning.
I wanted to see the Alps, of course, and we got a distant view only of
them from Zurich. Here, at Lucerne, we have them in all their grand
beauty.
I don't mind admitting to you that my purse would not allow my stopping
longer at the Schweizerhof, than to merely take a good look at the
exterior. I had with me the Lucerne elders' address, and easily found
them. They directed me to a friend who had cheap rooms, and it is here I
am writing to you. The view is just as fine from my window as from the
big hotel--nay, finer, for I am higher up; and after all, Lucy, the five
francs' out-look on a beautiful world is enjoyed quite as much as if it
cost fifteen. I can see the cap or the collar of Mt. Pilatus better
perhaps than the fat, cross, silk-clad lady I saw on the boat
yesterday, can see them. (By "cap" is meant a cloud resting on top, by
"collar" the cloud encircling Pilatus' head.)
This brings me to my trip on Lake Lucerne day before yesterday. We
started early. The tourist season has hardly begun yet, so we were not
crowded. There was rain threatening. The mountain tops were hidden by
clouds, and the prospect was not assuring. However, by the time we
landed at Brunnen, the clouds had lifted, the sun came out, and the day
became pleasantly warm. From Brunnen, it was our plan to walk along the
Axenstrasse, to Fluelen, a distance of five or six miles. There were
three of us, with an elder for guide. I wish you could have spent that
afternoon with us--with me, strolling along that wonderful road, cut out
of the mountain side bordering the lake. The post cards I am enclosing
will give you an idea of the scenery, and I assure you the blueness of
the lake is not overdone in the picture.
The road leads along gently sloping hill-sides, covered with farms, then
it pierces the sheer rock, then again borders the cliff, fifty or one
hundred feet from the lake below. The trees are in full leaf and some
are in bloom. The grass is high where we walked, but up towards the tops
of the mountains, the snow still lies. One of the strange sights is to
see large, splendid hotels perched in some cranny away up near the
summit of the peaks. Cog railways now take the tourists up some of the
mountains.
The region around Lake Lucerne is historic, I am told. Here began the
Swiss struggle for liberty which we read about. The scene of William
Tell's exploits are laid here, and we are shown on the shore of the
lake, Tell's Capelle, said to mark the spot where the apple-shooting
patriot leaped ashore and escaped from the tyrant Gessler. I do not
wonder at men, born and reared amid these mountains not submitting to
the yoke of oppression.
In reading up on Lucerne, I came upon this, taken from "Romance and
Teutonic Switzerland."
"The Swiss nation was born on the banks of Lake Luzern, and craddled
upon its waters. First, the chattering waves told the news to the
overhanging beaches; and they whispered it to the forests, to the lonely
cedars on the uplands. The blank precipices smiled, the Alpine roses
blushed their brightest, the summer pastures glowed, the glaciers and
avalanches roared approval; and, finally, the topmost peaks promised to
lend their white mantles for the baptism." That's rather nicely put,
don't you think?
About half way along Axenstrasse, we discovered that we were hungry, so
we proposed to try one of the farm houses for something to eat. Our
guide, tried one that looked typical of what we wanted, and the rest of
us waited by the road, for fully thirty minutes.
At last the elder returned, explaining that he had had no easy task. He
had to plead with every member of the household, from grandmother to
daughter, to get them to take us in; but at last he was successful. We
went into a most interesting room. The finish and furnishings were old
and quaint, the woodwork bare of paint and scoured clean and smooth by
years of scrubbing. In time we were served with bread (they were out of
butter, they said) preserved cherries, walnuts, and hot milk. (Our guide
said it was safer to have the milk boiled.) We enjoyed the meal amid the
unique surroundings. The good people were profuse with thanks when we
paid them in good-sized silver. I believe the elder left a gospel tract
with them, so who can tell what will be the outcome of our visit?
From Fluelen we took steamer back to Lucerne.
Well, it's getting late. I'd better go to bed. I fear I shall tire you
by my guide-book descriptions. But this for a good-night's thought: Here
I am away from you, away from my world, as it were. I can look back on
my short life, and I can see the hand of an allwise and merciful Father,
shaping events, ever for my good. Was it chance that we two should have
taken the same steamer and be thrown together as we were. Not at all.
There is a power behind the universe--call it what we may--which
directs. This power will not permit any honest, truth-seeking soul to be
overcome and be destroyed. I thank the Lord for His blessings to me. Out
of seeming darkness and despair He has led me to light and happiness.
And may I say it, we two, because of our cleaving to the light as it has
been made known to us, have been brought together. Is it not true? I
wish and pray also that your father may soften his heart towards the
truth. I sometimes fear that his heart does already accept the gospel,
but that his will says no. There now, good night.
* * * * *
Good morning. I had a fine sleep. I dreamed that you were with me, and
we were looking at the Lion of Lucerne. The dying lion roared, and you
clasped me so tightly in your fright, that I awoke,--all of which
reminds me that I have not told you much about this city or its sights.
The Lion, I suppose is Lucerne's most distinctive curiosity. As you will
see by the card, it is a large figure of a lion carved out of the solid
rock in the hillside. Thorwaldsen furnished the model. It was made to
commemorate the bravery of the Swiss guards who fought in the service of
Louis XVI at the outbreak of the French Revolution.
Switzerland is sometimes called the playground of Europe. Down on the
promenades by the lakes, one may see people from "every nation under
heaven" nearly. By the way, who do you think I met, day before
yesterday? Why, our would-be gallant ship-board friend. Strange to say,
he was sober, and more strange, he appeared pleased to see me. He wanted
to take me to all kinds of places, and treat me to all kinds of good
things; but further, strange(?) to relate, I shook him for the company
of a few native saints, for there was a meeting that evening which I
attended. I had to speak too, in English, of course, with one of the
missionaries interpreting. It was an odd experience.
The postman has just been here with your note. I was very sorry the news
from you was not better. I am blaming myself for tiring you out too much
with my sight seeing. Send me at least a card everyday to this address,
_please_. I have thought to go through the country to Bern, but I
suppose all the lakes and mountains of Switzerland look much alike. I am
quite satisfied with Lucerne. I was very much interested in what your
father said about "Mormonism." If our prayers are of any avail, we'll
"get him" yet.
Before I close this long letter, and I must do so now--I want to tell
you of an incident that occurred yesterday. I was taking a stroll up
above the town, by myself, for I will admit I was in a "mood." There are
a lot of monks in Lucerne. You can see them on the street, fat,
rolly-poly looking men, bare, oddly-cropped heads, and outwardly clad in
what looks like a dressing gown. Well, I was curious to see the convent
where the monks live a life of ease, I suppose to get used to the
eternal "rest" which they expect when they get to heaven, of which I
have my "doubts." However, I did not find the convent, nor did I see any
monks, but as I was walking along an unfrequently traveled road, I met a
little boy and girl, walking towards me, hand in hand. They were crying.
When they saw me, they wiped their eyes and stopped. I saw they were
poorly clad, and, somewhat dirty. I became interested in them, but they
were so shy that it was with difficulty I got them to remain. They
looked at the coppers I held out, but they did not move until I placed
a silver piece beside them. Their eyes rounded out, then, and the little
girl became brave enough to come and take them. Well, I tried my German
on them, but they were, evidently, too Swiss to understand me--I was at
the time making a whistle from a small willow which I had cut from the
wayside. I seated myself on the bank and went on making my whistle. The
children watched me pound the bark, then twist off the loosened peeling,
and finish the whistle. When I blew it, they laughed. I handed it to the
boy, who timidly put it to his lips. They sat down by me, and I made a
whistle for the girl, then a third, bigger one, which I stuck into the
boy's pocket, telling him to take it home. You ought to have seen the
changed expression on those two dirty faces when they left me, blowing
happily on their willow whistles.
I was lonesome no longer. What a little thing will bring joy into a
dreary life!
Love to all with heaping measures for you, from
Yours as ever,
CHESTER.